Best Frenetically Poems
Maze
Oh my Heart, why do you seek
the ecstasy of Eden's garden
when love is a daunting puzzle.
Woe is you, you fool;
for you dare to travail
through its sinuous paths
filled with deception and treachery
... ruled by a sweet-talking, sensuous
serpent, sinfully seductive
with his cajoling, forked tongue,
promising every heavenly delight.
Greedily gulping wine-filled songs,
frenetically feeding on empty poetry,
you’re blindfolded and lost
on a dead-end street,
bumping against a wall
of steel gray misery,
imprisoning your soul and
turning your hopes and dreams
into doubt, desperation, and despair.
Oh my Heart, you’re trapped,
suspended in a twisting maze...
of unrequited, lethal love.
Contest: Maze - 10 Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Dear Heart
Date: 06-23-2020
Placement: 4th
Music
is a sweet spring shower for romantics.
For the weary, it is a soothing stream
flowing sublimely through one’s soul.
It is a pond or lake, reflecting joy.
For those in search of thrills,
its waves pound frenetically to lighthouse strobe lights
across an ocean’s roar in the night.
Like water, music takes many different forms.
Find your pleasure; let it wash over you!
For Geraldine Taylor's
the 'Poetry Anthology - Music Theme' Poetry Contest
Blithe fools traipsing through bleary hollow
Airy sprites in hovering tents shadow
Brooding sylvan fringe shrouding light with her swaying willow
Jaded beams peep through the crenelated steeple's window
Sprouting thickets bristling with spiny tendrils each step harrow
Creepy vermin frenetically scurry under foot from burrow to
burrow
A musty dampness shivers intruders; beneath feet liken's slimy
residual doth grow
Whistling winds hauntingly whisper a doleful strain
Ominous portent overhead; hoot owls continuously bleet their eerie
refrain
Perilous pitfalls surround; ensnaring cracks, crevices unwitting lives
drain
Poisonous foliage ensconses the beaten path distilled with its
potion of pain
Jagged course nearly run; wayfarers enlightened by each
cumbersome travail
Weary itinerants seasoned on nature's, menacing plain
Pensively treading the last mile over the rough, foreboding terrain
Suspended with roses, a garter and courage.
Her wispy white costume blows in the breeze.
Silky vibrations as she sways her bodice —
the Rapunzel-princess of the swinging trapeze.
Brunette hair and outfit bound with pearls and lace.
High with Magellanic clouds, marvelous outlander of earth.
Slender fingers wrapped around the seraphic twine.
Daughter of the heavens, from the day a trouper gave birth.
One...two...three, the excitement sounds, the air surfeits
about like maddening faerie dust. The open sky burns
with eccentric flame - crowd applauding like cherry bombs.
The darling of the sky, entices every cent she earns.
This rapturous virgin makes love to the dawn.
Her stupendous feat goes on and on, drawing
in oohs and ahhs...the climax as her knees
hang vaingloriously from the seat, outlawing
the silver and gold wings that flutter about
outside the circus tent, as this beauty shines
upside-down like an albinotic bat, frenetically
stirring the breeze… waving from the vines.
7/29/2019
Frenetically I rest in her guest room.
I think of her quiet hospital room.
I’ve laid my head on this pillow before.
I toss, turn, and pray, in this cozy room.
The lamp that’s lit sees the quiver of lips.
The cool sheets rumple my soul in this room.
The morning will bring no kitchen nesting.
Silence of pantry doors - feastless, this room.
Cars leave the driveway while mom’s still alive.
The staff is preparing her hospice room.
The transport holds my heart; mom’s head is bare.
Tender care, support, comfort in the room.
I shared a scintilla of who mom is.
Caregiver softly stroked mom’s brow, in room.
After she passed, saw a tear on her cheek.
Her bones turning to stone in this room.
This daughter remembers the softest hands.
In dream, mom squeezes mine, from heav’n’s room
love was a lonely Syllable
Embedded hypothetically in the
syntax of the
Story of
You and
Me
We quoted ,
I love you
And you , sic [loved me]
But perhaps
this was
Your hyperbole
Parenthesis
you
kept
[Me] in,
Frenetically
in case
our verbs
became nouns
No verisimilitude
Imbedded logically
the allusion
Came alive
Described
So
speciously
All too clear
Once I chose
To study
The
history
No,
The Plot discovered,
This was
My own soliloquy
Dear Apostrophe ,
you and I
We are not
Like simile
Truth be told
I only resemble
Footnotes
In the ledger
Of your
Poetry
Flitting furtively from
family member to
family member
like a truly bumbling bee
frantically, frenetically flying
from flower to flower
frustrated at his failure
to discern the nectar of love
amongst the resentments,
the caretaker drone
strays unwittingly
into the mouth
of the family dog,
saving the others
from themselves
just moments ago, a dawning realization
arose within this sol son begat
from ma late mother
and octogenarian widower father,
oh..no nothing cat
tuss strophic, boot merely the revelation,
how fist bumping dee clocks hour hand ahead
remembered by dat
dog gone refrain spring ahead, and fall back,
this unemployed chap doth down play eclat
attests that his quotidian schedule minimally effected
holed up here in Highland Manor named flat
roomy enough for thyself, the Missus,
and buzzfeed ding fruit flies
each approximately the size of a gnat
a minor nuisance, though tolerable
within this appealing habitat
where minor inconvenience experienced
by this Schwenksville, Pennsylvania resident
cuz as a recipient of social security disability
(social anxiety) this psyche didst get rent
which fixed (unearned) income budgeted
and predominantly costs of living money spent
hence no need to arise bright tailed and bushy eyed,
a freedom akin to folks camped out in a tent,
which exemption immunizes
this doodle ling middle aged
muddle brained chap subject ranting
early morning drivers,
who angrily, frenetically,
and splenetically rant and vent
thus, the tendency, piquancy, and lunacy
to twitter (for the Yardbirds),
and keep company with night owls, who went
a hooting for all the world wide web
to hear, whence dawgs Bach
the exact number of hours, yer oblivious
to the tight rigorous mortised schedule
manned by Mister Clock,
essentially foisting on Bread Winners,
an abstract artificial construct spurring
madcap commuters to scurry in the rat race,
lest tardiness could cost
more than paycheck
(to ap pier with permanent dock
hue ment aye shun),
an unwonted blot add hoc
king worry about getting canned -
i.e. on permanent furlough,
perhaps forced into a life of crime,
yet if caught...
wasting away in a jail cell
as warden turns the lock
one redeeming factor,
would offer opportunity to mock
management, and more pertinently
mandate to rock
and roll to the incessant muted,
yet devastatingly loud tick tock.
Black shrouds blue
a dingy hue
This greedy minscus constricts us
~~~Mother Earth's shameful eyepatch~~
A gull's squak gurgled crude
chirping 89 octane birdsongs
forever grounded by fossil fuel fettered feathers
sharp eyes, glazed over, searching the horizon
for a savior from this senselessness
Feed the steely beasts,
produced in fleets,
chrome teeth and audible horns,
the black blood we gave them
and thirst for thanklessly.
Their evolution halted by prophets of profit
We extract that which we cannot put back
veins spew petroleum poison
hemmorhaging
Cuts bleed. Logically
Yet here stands man,
knife in hand
confounded by healing our wounded land
as figureheads foist fingers frenetically
***Inspired by Poetry Soup's Gulf Oil Spill contest!!
Yak is everywhere
Not cursing or rude in the ends
Yak is a street artist
Yak:first of all you have excellence and simplicity in Logo
You make me smile
Your work is constant and consistent
You frenetically protests against
agreeing or not
those three letters always make me glad
content,
Closed to You certainly are pal artists
But the genius in Yak her/his/'s simplicity
is not bout agreeing
Yak(ing)
Yak might be a scream demanding me/we are artists of Democracy if hired the worked will be paid in the amount of Talent
Yak is
An enormous label name
Imagine: Yak clothes, Street, Casual, non-casual, jewels, watches
Yak concept
Yak 'Concepteur'
Yak unlimited supply
Yak boundaries are all crossed
the next step
We Deserve Yak
I was thinking about making a T-shirt with,
But that's not fare some are my fights but the label is not mine
Yak deserve recognition beyond
I wonder sometimes about the identity of Yak or Yak's
I see ex-students on Yak
I see colleagues on Yak
I show Yak around
Some like some dislike
People that are to consensual are not generally in my favourites list
And that's a reason for Democracy major virtues and severe imperfections
And in dictatorship even the camouflaged kind Yak is needed
Yak is probably not Bunksy
Yak for me create a trend
The sign of Thor's hammer *
Simple 1Y 2a 3k
The sympathetic logo makes people smile
At least for a single time You,
You
You,You
and also You and You
You all have smiled about the word,
You in some way are protest signatories
But look at the Logo
Gud signi teg
Yak
Thank You!
* Etymology 2 Old Norse signa a) Wiktyonary
**Wiktyonary
If I only could see that which is beyond the pale of the limitation of
The complexity with which things espial are thus espied.
If the round pasty pastry-
Complete with its rind of crispy, golden-brown, flaky crust,
And the alabastrine creaminess contained both without and within-
Therein, or in here, or wherever is the place where all the modes
And analogues and apotheoses of figurative speech,
And the metaphors and similes and symbols true that they prove to be,
Are housed; within that tremulous sphere, wheeling frenetically in some
Gaseous void out there, beyond the pale of the furthest star,
Beyond the realms charted by stellar cartographies,
In that otherness that is also nothingness,
In the dread, dead void between sidereal bodies coruscating in
The caliginous eternal night of the blank emptiness of space;
In that dim spatiality, where all the metaphors that we use eventually go;
To that endless address whence no man and no thing ever returns,
From that dread and dun locus on which we have assayed to focus;
I say from that there is no repair, nor remove.
Once one is there, that is their address until time indefinite.
Still, if only I could glimpse that which lies beyond the limitations of
Our somehow magnificent, yet insignificant imaginations...
Consumption
Scurrying between gleaming malls,
sniffing through the latest bargains,
that are crucified onto sterile walls,
crawling amidst those sanitised aisles,
glazed eyes darting frenetically, hungry,
leaving not a trace on the polished tiles,
gnawing at the endless, dead queues,
shirts, skirts, jeans into trolleys flung,
then straight to the closet to be hung,
pompous odours foul each aroused breath,
scraping, bowing before these mute deities,
an intoxicated swirly haze of lustful gaieties,
it never ceases, this relentless, frantic surge,
always unable to quench the insatiable urge,
stopping briefly, only for an occasional purge,
as we continue, & continue , to numbly splurge
In the absurd theater of our world, where the curtain of reason has long been torn,
The puppeteers of madness move their marionettes with strings woven from illusions and empty promises.
The crowd, an ocean of hollow eyes and dormant minds, sways to the rhythm of a harsh melody,
Executing every command with terrifying precision, no matter how absurd or sinister it may be.
Progressives, dressed in garments woven from poisoned dreams and perverted ideals,
Wave their banners of madness in the darkened sky of a drifting society.
And the masses, oh, the poor masses, blinded by the false glitter of distorted ideas,
Hurl themselves with open arms into the abyss dug by their own tireless hands.
Instead of seeing the hideous masks hidden beneath thick layers of feigned virtue,
The crowd applauds frenetically at every act of this grotesque spectacle of "progress."
Every toxic idea is swallowed like an elixir of salvation, every insane command is a divine decree,
And the temple of reason crumbles under the blows dealt by those who should defend it.
On the altar of sacrifice, values are butchered with the precision of a mad surgeon,
And their blood flows in rivers of forgetfulness, feeding the monsters hidden in the shadows of "evolution."
Crimes against common sense are celebrated as victories of enlightenment,
While slowly but surely, the foundations of civilization crumble under the weight of their own madness.
And yet, no one seems to see the abyss opening beneath the feet of this demented society,
No one hears the silent scream of reason chained in the dungeons of "correctness."
Like hypnotized lemurs, we march in lockstep toward our own destruction,
Singing hymns of praise to those who lead us with wide smiles toward the precipice.
Oh, mad world, when will you wake from this self-imposed nightmare?
When will you break the chains of this blind obedience to the false prophets of progress?
Or perhaps it is too late, and we are doomed to dance this macabre dance until the end,
Until the last light of reason is extinguished in the long night of an era of collective madness.
a 1 2 3 4 is not a 1 2 1 2 nor a 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8....ok then hum....x
A house trained duck could run amok in even the most tightest fitting apron but alchemy weaving leathers are best placed on legs measuring over an acre. It is to be acclimatised to a storm pattern syndrome of striped sun on a grey background but it could also be ascertained that travelling backwards at high speed down a motorway slip road is best achieved carrying one potato, a giant melon tree, and a tricycle. For to dare is to do and to do is to drop dig dreaming dramas dramatically. And to add to such fine grammar one might also assume that a locked gate is as abhorrent as a shut and bolted door. For it is as the horse trots. As the pig whistles. And as the barn creaks. That the fine acrylics begin annual waltzing duties with the glasses of peanut juice. Great. How very marvellous that is. Is it not the hidden virtue of every acolyte that hides the hidden and haves the heaving holders? Is it to be beholden or frenetically ejected via pulsation? The sanctimonious baby sea lion is sat on a third angled throne. In deep contemplation but writing memoirs to a shoal of snowmen is often a worthwhile endeavour. Painful plant pot planting pickles. And a wonderful world wide deity in an orchestrated diagrammatic map. Oh how poignant the points of the programmable playlist playing pianos. And yet the mop moves monotonously and the cloth cleverly cleans. Fantastic news for frog shop fans at a baseball game. Ha. Now send that sponge by rail not plane. Hahaha saviours swinging speedily hahaha Astronaughts and whales balancing. Xxxxx brontosaurus Z z z z
The nephrite syndrome.
I will not change the?
calculus, to find the truth
of the flesh.
The paid price of chemistry
will make history. If
you can stop the blitz?
of the replicas.
It ends like a fire, without
ashes. The limbs check
the fall. Across the river
an isle erupts.
The prisoner at last escapes,
from the procession of profanities.
You are finally liberated,
releasing the lost poem.
Satish Verma